


in the cellar where the cinders blaze

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld
Genre: #The Fire of Ankh-Morpork, #Vetinari as Patrician in The Colour of Magic, #While Rome Burns, #vetinari is a witch, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: It was traditional to be infuriatingly calm about the City going up in flames
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	in the cellar where the cinders blaze

What would you take with you if your home was on fire?

The acrid smell of things-other-than-wood smoke pierced the night. 

“Why don’t you just carry that thing?” the head clerk of the Palace asked the fat young man who was intermittently picking up and putting down the little dog that was currently trotting at his heels as he led the crowd away from the center of the city.

“He wants to run. He’s a terrier,” said the Patrician, as though this was obvious. “We need to cross the river.”

“Isn’t the river flammable?” asked the new cook, as the roar of the flames grew behind the crowd.

“Very. Fire takes the path of least resistance and the rimward bank has a gap of twenty meters between the river and the nearest buildings. The river will create a convection current...” the Patrician paused in the middle of the street. He waved for those around him to carry on ahead. The dog yipped to be picked up and he lifted the dog and held him to his chest. Then he closed his eyes and listened. 

He had listened to the rats when the Broken Drum had gone up in flames. He had listened to the merchants who had shown up just after Gorphal had left for the Assassin’s Guild. Now he listened to the city below the city. The soil drying out and cracking from the heat. The sand in the loam melting to glass where the flames were hottest. The wind drove the fire that was torching the earth. The city below the city cried out and the oldest voices said there had been fires like this since there were forests and grasslands on this soil and things would grow better when the fire was burnt out. Things like the bricklaying industry, for instance, if the Patrician had any say in the matter.

He reached out a hand. People running past seemed to slow around him. He had opened his ears, he dare not open his eyes. “Come on, Ankh-Morpork. Do this for me,” he whispered. The air thickened and he heard the wind die down. A high pressure front was slowing the fire. He couldn’t hold it for long. As soon as he let go the fire would race along the river in a white-hot wall and then blaze out, like an oil-soaked rag thrown on logs without any kindling. At least that was the theory. He shouldn’t have used magic for what he did next, but it was important. From the air he drew the sound of a frantically ringing bell.

The sound of boots on cobbles strangely muffled, as though the boots were a rather insubstantial gesture toward keeping water out. 

Keeping his eyes tightly shut the Patrician said “Blow up one of the buildings on Treacle Mine Road. Use firework powder to create a firebreak to stop the conflagration reaching the Shades. Run quickly and light a long fuse. Burnt treacle releases carbon monoxide, that’s a gas that’s poisonou—“

“I know what carbon monoxide is.”

The Patrician crossed the bridge, keeping a tight hold on the air currents and then let go. 

The fire hit the river with a deafening roar and a wave of heat radiated outward like the aftershock of an earthquake. 

A few minutes later the Patrician was sitting down on a hill outside the city walls. 

“Has anyone got a fiddle?” he asked. 

There was some murmuring and the head of the Musician’s Guild produced his third-worst instrument. 

“I‘ve sent to Quirm, Pseudopolis and Sto Lat for provisions and help rebuilding,” said the Patrician, who hadn’t, yet, but was looking pointedly at the dark clerks. “All government buildings and Palace gardens will be open in the meantime.” He settled the violin under his jaw. “Now how about ‘The Morpork Rant’?”

It was an easy question with an easy answer. If Ankh-Morpork is burning, you take Ankh-Morpork with you. And a dog. 


End file.
